Lavender Feathers
by PhantomHeiress
Summary: "What cruel tricks the naive mind plays, when the people have gone to bed. What cruel tricks the Midnight sways, when the monsters have risen instead." KrishnaLan is learning to forgive the person that needs it the most - herself. Sequel to Black Feathers.
1. Goat Horns and Lost Antlers

Chuck had… _seen _something.

"Why does no one ever believe me when I tell them these things?" He was a young man with strong build with a decent character. He slammed the truck door closed and zipped up his thin jacket in the morning air. Little pieces of flaking paint fluttered to rest on the pothole-dusted road.

"I'm not saying I don't believe you, man…" Chuck's companion on this little excursion (the driver, actually; Chuck's license had been rebuked after he was declared mentally unstable) was named Phineas. Though, he preferred to be called Finny, thank you very much. But everyone called him Fins. "But, I mean, are you sure it was a _person_, and not just a gatherin' of ravens?" Fins grabbed a flashlight from the dash. "It's early. The swamp could have just tricked you."

"Fins, do me a favor and _don't_ judge me?" Chuck pulled a ballcap over his head to cover his messy brown hair. "The reason I asked you to come out here in the first place was because you know these swamps better than anyone. So just be my eyes and don't say nothin'. _Nothin_'."

"Whatever." Fins slammed the driver door. "People just droppin' from the sky. Totally normal, right?"

"_Nothin' _Fins."

The swamp air was thick and hard to breathe through, especially since the clock on the dash just ticked to 5 am. But Fins kept his mouth shut (as per instructed) and shone the flashlight beam through the swamp. The trees, what few were present, tangled up in eerie, artful ways. Where the branches would jut up to the sky like they were trying desperately to escape the suffocating atmosphere. And, to make Fins despise the scene even more, a thick fog clung to the shrubs, drifting down and stretching for the water. The less-than-sanitary, what-on-earth-is-in-there water. It was so thick, it didn't even deserve the decency of being _CALLED _water. More like… sludge.

Ew.

And Fins couldn't help but spit out, "Chuck, you owe me at least 50 bucks for this."

"Look, look!" Chuck's too-loud voice sent chills up Finny's spine. "On that island over there, do you see it?"

Fins squinted his eyes and tried to get the flashlight to push its light through the air. The dusty rays finally rested on what Chuck was pointing out – a mass resting on a piece of the ground, partially concealed by cattails and halfway covered by water. It wasn't moving, and (as far as Fins could see) was surrounded by black downy.

"It's probably just an alligator, you know? Ate a couple crows and just beached itself." Fins couldn't believe what he was thinking, but he was getting a little more panicked the more he kept the flashlight beam steady on the mass.

"We should go over there…" Chuck whispered, looking at Fins with curious brown eyes. "Check it out."

"Are you kidding, man?" Fins said. "I wore my good shoes today. You really think I'm just willing to go trudging through a swamp?"

"Well, what if it IS a person? And what if they need help?" Curse Chuck for appealing to Finny's humanitarian side. Curse him.

"Fine. One quick look. But if that's a gator, so help me, I will use you as a shield."

"Fair enough."

With a little moral boost that Fins conjured from deep within his soul, he gripped the flashlight steady in one hand and stepped into the shallow swamp water. It was in the silent moment when they were walking through the muck that the insects started to chirp to one another. Crickets sang their morning songs, even though it was barely dawn. The sun hadn't even made an appearance yet.

Water and mud flooded into the boots of the pair, but they ignored it. Especially when they saw exactly what it was that had washed up on the shore.

"I'll be damned," Fins said quietly, planting one foot up on the mushy sand that composed the island. "It's a girl."

She was extremely pale, wearing a set of soaking baggy clothes. Her hair was matted to her head, and her face had patches of black scales on it. Her arms, one of them completely in the swamp water, were covered in… what were they?

"Are those tattoos?" Chuck asked, gesturing down at the reddish brown patterns all across the girl's arms. Small black feathers were twitching in the breeze by her face, but she didn't move at all. "And… my God… are those… Fins, are those HORNS?"

"Should we help her… or…?"

Suddenly, something in the water right next to where the girl was lying began to disrupt the calm surface of the marsh. It swished back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…

Fins and Chuck took a step back.

Fins kept the flashlight shined on her pale, fragile face. Her neck was bloodied and sliced through, strings of flesh and muscle peeling away from the gruesome wound. And the thing in the water kept swishing back and forth, back and forth…

"She's gotta be dead, though, Finny, right? With a wound like that?"

Back and forth, back and forth…

"I," Phineas stuttered, "I think so."

"Not quite." The voice that came from the girl's lips caused Chuck to cry out in alarm and fall back into the swamp water. She sat up slowly, fingering the wound on her neck but not paying it any more attention than that. "Oh, KrishnaLan, my darling sister…" She laughed darkly, running one finger over the henna on her arms. "What fun I'll have possessing your body… after all, someone has to keep your work alive, no?" And her eyes turned up to look at Fins, holding the flashlight in one shock-stricken hand, and felt the insane adrenaline of the need to rid herself of the burden of Karma. "I'd best get to work, then."

* * *

_PhantomHeiress Presents_

* * *

_LAVENDER FEATHERS_

* * *

It all happened very quickly… very, very quickly. And after just what seemed like a few moments, it was over and Thor found himself sitting on the side of an Asgardian mountain, watching the sun as it shyly peeked over the horizon.

He expected to feel guilt - of course he expected to feel guilt. But the guilt that bore over his entire frame NOW was something that he wasn't expecting. He hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, Thor had done everything RIGHT. And yet his soul was heavy with the deeds that he'd executed.

It was enough that Thor was the one ordained to tie Loki to the pillar. And it was enough that he was the last one to walk away, glancing back over his shoulder to see Loki's green eyes bore angrily into his own. But now Thor was tormented with this incredible, painful guilt.

The sun's rays stretched slowly over Asgard. Golden rooftops glimmered happily to the sky, their light dancing merrily in tiny twinkles. The whole land seemed to yawn and stretch out its arms, wiping away everything from the day before. Soon the people would begin to move about. The palace would come back to life, full of laughter and joy like nothing had happened at all. Thor wouldn't be laughing with them - not today. The others didn't have to tie their own brother into an abyss. They could laugh all they wanted. But not Thor.

In just a few hours, the court would be melting down Loki's helmet and completely disposing of it.

"Loki," Thor muttered to himself, looking down at his hands - still dusted over with the residue from the chain he bound Loki with, "I hope you'll forgive me one day..."


	2. Charlie

She came running around the corner. Her rapid footsteps disrupted the smog lingering around the ground of the alleyway, their echoes pattering over the buildings on either side of her. She didn't know where she was going, she didn't know if this alley even opened up to another one. She just ran.

And then there were two sets of footsteps. But the other ones were heavier, less elegant – faster. She didn't want to turn around to look, but the creeping feeling forcing its way up her neck forced her to look back. She could see his silhouette in the fog, coming closer to her, breathing heavily. Turning back around, her golden hair restricted her vision. Just as she was pulling it away from her eyes, she collided with a chain-link fence at the end of the alleyway and cried out.

There wasn't any more time to look back, just time enough to loop her fingers around the wires and climb. As she approached the top of the fence, her feet shaking violently with each vertical step, she started to hope. Maybe this wasn't the end for her. Maybe she could go home. Maybe…

He grabbed onto her right ankle. And before she could even breathe in, she had been thrown back to the grimy stonework on the ground; staring at the top of the fence that she would never reach. All of her 'maybes' climbed the fence without her and disappeared.

She didn't see much – she didn't want to look. The things he did were terrifying. And when the worst of it was over, a scorching pain ripped through her stomach. And again. And again. She could feel her clothing become wet and warm, clinging to her skin as her whole body radiated with pain. He stabbed her for what she assumed was the final time, this time leaving the blade sticking out of her stomach.

His footsteps gradually shrunk away and she was left alone.

Her "maybe's" were replaced with "if only's."

She wanted to call her mother. That was the first thing that ran through her mind. She pulled herself up against the wall, slouching over as strength ebbed away from her body. But her phone wasn't in her pocket. And like that, she was completely alone to die in some random alleyway in New York City. Her wounds started to stop hurting, her heartbeat was slowing gradually. Everything around her started to blur.

This isn't how she wanted to die.

Her eyes eased open again, and she saw someone sitting next to her. She looked up slowly, her mouth open and dripping with blood.

The woman sitting next to her was beautiful. But she didn't care about her beauty.

"Please." She whispered through the blood. "Please, call someone. 911. Please help me."

"I can't, darling." The woman whispered with a sad smile. Her voice wasn't really _audible_, persay, but it seemed to register on a more neurotic level. "If you can see me, then you're already too far gone."

"Who are you?"

"Call me Krish."

Krish was dressed in black, flowing clothing that didn't seem to have any separating lines. It was fluid and beautiful and dark. She had two glorious goat horns jutting from her head, and scales that seemed to line her face. Her perfect porcelain skin seemed to glow brightly in contrast, and she had the most stunning green eyes.

"Are you…" She struggled to talk, "Are you an angel?"

Krish didn't respond. She just looked at the dying girl. She was so pretty. Her eyes were bright… but terrified. Her hair was golden… but smattered with blood. This was a terrible moment for KrishnaLan, who was (for the first time) put face to face with a dying person who didn't deserve to die. She was used to killing murderers, rapists, ugly people with ugly souls. But this girl.

This girl had done nothing wrong. This was unfair. This wasn't right. And Krish absolutely didn't like it.

"Are you a demon?" The girl asked painfully.

"Not for you." Krish responded quietly. "I'm a spirit, you see. You're verging so close to death that you can see off the edge. That's the only reason we can talk right now."

"Are you real?"

"Yes, I'm real."

"Please… will you stay with me… I'm…" The sound that came from the girl's throat as she struggled past the blood was heart-wrenching. "I'm very scared."

Krish set her hand on the girl's. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise." This seemed to ease the girl's trouble for just a moment, and she closed her eyes softly. But she continued to take ragged breaths. KrishnaLan didn't know how much longer she could take this. Was this supposed to humble her? Was she supposed to learn something? Why did this innocent, beautiful girl have to suffer for it?

"Is the afterlife…" Her eyes opened painfully again, "Is the afterlife comfortable? Is… is it real? Is it…"

"Well, I've only been to Hell. You won't be going there. You'll be going somewhere beautiful."

"Tell me about it, please. Please explain it to me."

"There will be people there, lots of people that are willing to love you. There's no pain, no worries. No evil people. You'll be able to breathe more easily than you've ever breathed before."

"Are you…" Another one of those gurgles from the girl's mouth made KrishnaLan cringe. "Are you here to take me there?"

"I'm afraid I'm not allowed."

"Then why… why are you here?"

"You see, with proper medical care right at this moment, your body could still function for several hours. I need those hours. I need to talk to someone, someone that I care about very much. Is that alright with you?"

She nodded.

"Then you need to let go." Krish said kindly. "Everyone is afraid of death. And some of them should be. But you, my dear, you have absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Close your eyes, and just let go. Death will be kind to you."

"I'm scared."

"I'm here, don't worry."

"T-thank you. Thank you, Krish." The girl closed her eyes and relaxed. KrishnaLan tensed up for a moment.

"Wait, you never told me your name…"

"My name…" She looked pained again for a long moment, and the silence where she tried to muster the courage to speak was incredibly horrible. "Charlie."

"Charlie." KrishnaLan repeated. And for some reason, that recognition seemed enough for Charlie to let go. She breathed in a few more times, breathed out… and then she didn't inhale again.

Krish had seen death so many times. She'd caused it, even. Krish had spent hundreds of lifetimes spilling other people's blood onto her own clothing and loving it. She thought death was glorious and royal, that it was stunning to cause someone else's demise and hold their lives in your fingertips.

But Charlie. Charlie didn't deserve to die. Gods, Charlie was practically perfect. And in those dead, lifeless eyes, Krish could see all of Charlie's lost potential. Charlie would never get married. Charlie would never see her family again. Charlie wouldn't have children. Charlie wasn't going to graduate college. Charlie would never have another Christmas. Charlie wouldn't ever leave a footprint on the world. She would be regarded as a victim on the news, for a brief five-second newscast, and then never recognized again.

This girl, that would never be regarded again, had hopes and dreams and aspirations and fears and thoughts. She had read books and watched movies. She'd laughed and cried. She'd loved people and lost people. She'd seen the world and thought about it and she could have changed it.

Charlie wasn't going home tonight.

And this impacted KrishnaLan profoundly.

But Krish tried to put her emotions aside. She didn't have much time… the human body fades quickly, and Krish needed as much time as she could manage. Her spirit entered the frame of Charlie and suddenly the dead body was reanimated. Krish had forgotten what feeling felt like. The blood rushed through the dead veins again, and Charlie's donated heart started to beat for KrishnaLan.

Krish kept the knife in her torso, and wrapped Charlie's scarf tightly around it and the wounds. She shambled drunkenly to her feet, feeling death start to encompass her again. But she shook it off and started to walk resolutely down the alleyway, leaving footprints of blood.

Because, before Krish went off to go find a certain Norse God, she had to go find a certain downtown killer.

For Charlie.


	3. Nothing Personal

_A/N: **Please read, it's pretty important**. XD So I went back and rewrote these last few chapters. I wasn't happy with it, and I feel like I should be happy with what I'm writing. Needless to say, I'm very, very happy with what I'm writing now and I can't wait for you to read it. I hope you can forgive me. _

_I would suggest going back and reading this from the very beginning. Otherwise you'll miss some pretty big plot details. Thank you so much for your support, it means the whole universe to me. The universe is pretty vast. _

_I love you! _

_-Phan  
(Ps. These chapters have some pretty dark themes that help deepen KrishnaLan's character. Reading discretion advised.)_

* * *

Krish, with all the time she spent killing them, had a lot of time to think about criminals.

Criminals, she decided, are a completely different species from the average human being. They think differently, they act differently. When they look out into the world, they don't see it as beautiful, they see it as a series of potential crimes.

For some psychopaths, it isn't even their fault that they're different. They have diseases lodged deep within their brain that change them, neurological pathogens that alter the very essence of who that person could have been. But, whether it's the fault of the psychopath or not, they are still different.

Krish treated her victims like livestock. She normally didn't have anything personal against them – it was just good business. She was sent somewhere to kill someone because of what they'd done to others – not because of anything they'd done to her. It was slice, dice, and move on. That's how KrishnaLan's work had always been; nothing more, nothing less.

But this.

This was personal.

It didn't take long to find Charlie's killer. Though it felt like longer, because Krish was dealing with an extreme wound in her proxy body. Also, Charlie seemed to have been near-sighted.

That didn't help.

All that aside, the killer didn't go far, and Krish didn't have very much trouble tracking him down. He was clumsy and dull, leaving far too many footprints in his wake, and Krish tracked him with ease. She was led to a small, grimy apartment building with dark windows and dark doors. It would be a quick-in, quick-out, and then Krish would be on her way.

Pulling a rusty, bent saw blade from a scrap pile next to the building, Krish eased the door open and stepped inside.

The long saw blade dragged on the stairs as Krish walked, her fingertips barely hooked over the handle. Her other hand was gripping onto her wound, keeping the bleeding at bay. She hadn't taken the knife out of her stomach yet. She planned on using that in a moment.

It had been a long time since she'd delivered someone's Karma, and she couldn't help but get the feeling that she was the masked antagonist in a bloody slasher movie. It was a pretty great feeling.

Krish eased open the doors to a few empty rooms before she got the right one. The large man was turned around, washing his hands at a sink and coughing every few seconds. He didn't hear the saw blade scraping into the room or the door creak closed behind it.

"Uh, hi!" Krish said cheerily in Charlie's scratchy, dead voice. The man turned around abruptly with panicked eyes. It was a jumpscare kind of panic. He didn't seem to register who was standing in the room or the weapon she was holding. But the realization slowly dawned on him, and Krish watched his small, rat-like eyes sheen over with genuine fear. He was muscular and scruffy, with a curve to his back like some sort of animal. His eyes looked down at the knife jutting from his victim's torso.

"I thought I…" He grunted in a low voice. "I thought I killed the likes of you…"

Krish rubbed her neck and started walking toward him. "Let me introduce myself first… my name is Krish. And I'm possessing the body of a girl named Charlie. Now, who are you?"

He was about to answer, but Krish interrupted him.

"You know…I don't really care. All I need to know is that you raped Charlie in an alleyway and left her to die. And let's just say…" KrishnaLan lifted the saw and ran her hand slowly over its surface, watching the blood from her fingers trail over the fading metal. Her eyes slowly tipped up to look at his again, dark and sinister with the spirit of KrishnaLan shining through. "I really didn't appreciate that."

The idiotic brute finally processed what was about to happen, and he tried to take action; he scrambled for a gun that was placed on the countertop on the wall. But KrishnaLan was quicker. She pulled the knife out of her abdomen, yanked his shoulder so she was facing her again, and plunged the blade into his chest.

She wanted to make it more colorful, more brutal, but he dropped to the ground before she could carve him out any more. And he writhed there slowly.

Krish stooped next to him and held the saw up to his neck.

"I'm going to cut off your head. And I hope you know," irritation pricked at her voice. "I'm missing a date with a Norse God because of you."

* * *

_Meanwhile..._

* * *

"Come on, Renette, let me just walk you home." The young man threw his arms around his girlfriend, and she laughed and tried to resist.

"No, I can get home by myself, I promise." She said simply.

"You don't know what kinda creeps lurk around this place." The young man insisted again. "I don't want you to have to deal with anything without me there next to you."

"I'll be fine, really, Paul." Renette insisted again, though she didn't resist when Paul put his arm around her and walked with her. "I know this neighborhood like the back of my hand. There aren't many people around here anyway. Just a whole lot of abandoned complexes and old homeless men."

"Old folks nowadays, you never know how dangerous they can be until one of 'em bites you."

"Oh, come off it Paul!" Renette laughed and gave him a light shove. "You're acting like I'm going to be decapitated or something."

"In places like this, heads will roll."

"You're scaring me."

"I'm sorry, Renette. Listen, just let me walk you home. And if your folks let me, I might even crash the night. Just to make sure you're okay." Paul's voice descended into more serious tones. "I've been watching the news recently and after everything that's been going on in New York, I don't want to take any chances."

"Are you talking about that whole superhero ordeal?" Renette's voice held a note of 'you have to be kidding me.' "Come on, Paul, all that got cleaned up. Remember? Everything is fine."

"I hope so." They approached a narrower street with more of the abandoned buildings that Renette talked about. But when Paul looked up at one of the windows and saw shadows moving around inside, he couldn't help but point it out. "Renette, I thought you said these buildings were abandoned?"

"They are."

"Then what's…?" Before Paul could finish his sentence, something was thrown from the window. It fell down the few flights and then splattered onto the concrete, rolling a few feet awkwardly.

Renette let out a bloodcurdling scream. Paul's eyes were locked on it and he started to feel sick at both the situation and the irony.

It was a decapitated head.

* * *

Krish stumbled through the park. This was as far as she was going to be able to go.

The skewered swings rocked back and forth slowly with the breeze, aching with each motion. The playground remained absolutely motionless. Krish could feel an inkling as to where Loki and her hairclip were, but there was no way she could reach him with how quickly this body was dying. And she wouldn't be able to reach him with a mortal body anyway.

But the hours she spent in this body were well worth it.

Feeling the demise of Charlie's body being evident, KrishnaLan crawled underneath the branches of a willow tree in the ghetto children's park. She propped herself against the trunk and breathed heavily, looking back at the trails of blood she'd matted down the grass with. The willow branches swayed around her like ghosts, first one way and then the next, beckoning her back into the void between life and death; a particular void that Krish had spent the majority of her time floating in.

Her head bent down slightly, and she looked at the blood covering her hands. Some of it was Charlie's. Some of it was her killer's. And sitting there in the quietness, Krish noticed something that she hadn't noticed before.

She could access Charlie's memories.

It was an incredible, humbling experience, to look through those index cards of memory and vicariously live a life that Krish had always wanted. Charlie lived freely. She didn't have any Hindu gods that she needed to work for or report back to. Charlie was just a mortal. And yet, in her 18 years, three months, and four days, she had lived more life than KrishnaLan had lived in millennia.

KrishnaLan closed her eyes.

When Krish died under that willow tree, it was Charlie's life that flashed before her eyes. Not her own.

In a few moments, the death was over and KrishnaLan's spirit was left to wander senselessly again. All pain, all feeling in general, was gone and Krish was looking at Charlie's dead body from the outside. Aside from the blood, Charlie's expression was at peace – she looked like she was sleeping. Krish felt like she'd known this girl forever. For some reason, as KrishnaLan's spirit walked away from Charlie's body, she felt like she was leaving behind a friend.


	4. Possessing People 101

_A/N: I want to take another moment to thank you for supporting me. This story is something that I'm so dedicated to. These characters and all of you have become such an uplifting part of my life. I can't wait to share this plotline with you. I've been developing it for quite some time. :) _  
_Thank you so much for sticking with me. I know I'm not perfect, and I know I can be super dull. But it means the world that you'd be willing enough to take time out of your day to read what I've written. _  
_Thank you so much. _  
_(Every review stops the ice cream man on Lilo and Stitch from dropping his ice cream)_  
_NOW TO THE STORY! _

* * *

Krish had possessed a dead body. She could possess a live one too.

Right?

Right.

All she knew was that she needed to talk to Thor. There was absolutely no way she could communicate with him the was she was now, and SHIELD probably wouldn't take well to an undead corpse shambling into their facility. No, she needed to possess someone with clearance. And they had to be very, very alive.

But living people were unpredictable. Krish had no idea how the average person would react to having another person shoved inside their skull. The last thing she needed was a SHIELD agent flailing around and beating themselves against the walls.

So Krish was going to get in some practice. A rehearsal, if you will, before debuting the major event. She was in New York If someone in New York started acting out-of-the norm, no one would really think much of it. Because, in New York, "out-of-the-norm" was normal.

And that included demonic possessions.

So this is where we find our KrishnaLan – in Central Park gazing over the many potential victims. After just a few moments, Krish rested her scope on the perfect opportunity. An adorable couple was eating and cuddling on a picnic blanket underneath the branches of a nearby tree. Krish watched them with disgust. They were giggling and feeding each other; and Krish decided (whether she was a ghost or not), if this kept up, she was going to vomit.

When they started putting whipped cream on each other's noses – well, Krish needed to put an end to THAT.

She didn't even hesitate. Krish threw herself right at the girl. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Death? HAHAHAHA no.

The initial feeling was pretty weird. Krish's spirit was eager to latch onto the girl's nervous system, but her nerves seemed confused as to which set of thoughts it should cater to. And the girl fought back. Oh, she definitely fought back. It was almost as if her brain had a built-in rejection system, and Krish was on the very edge of being kicked out of her foster body.

But after a few moments, Krish got a real hold of the girl's flailing spirit and shoved her into a corner of their shared mind.

And the body was ALL KrishnaLan's.

With the girl's fighting spirit subdued, Krish realized that she was crumpled over on the picnic blanket twitching. Okay. Twitching. There's one kink that needs to be worked out… Krish thought, picking herself back up and shaking off the pins and needles.

Her eyes locked with the man sitting across from her. He was cute with that absolutely horrified look on his face, and his eyes gave a nervous little twitch when He seemed to be considering calling 911.

"A-are you okay, sweetheart?" He asked timidly, reaching out for her.

Krish slapped his hand away, and he looked like a kicked puppy. "Don't call me sweetheart." She said sinisterly. And suddenly he looked like a puppy that had just been kicked down the stairs. "My vitals feel good… heartrate is kinda high, but that's fine… Vision is a little blurry… And, Gods, my head hurts…"

"Honey…?"

Krish decided to check her vocals. Not really because she had to.

Just because she wanted to.

She squeezed her eyes shut and let out the most bloodcurdling scream she could manage. Everyone looked over at the strange girl screaming on the picnic blanket, and her terrified boyfriend who was cowering with his arms around his knees. After the scream ripped through her trachea, Krish followed it up by throwing the bucket of potato salad at another picnicking couple.

It looked like they were considering calling 911, too.

This was when her host spirit started to fight back. Krish went a little lightheaded, and felt for a moment that she was going to pass out. She suddenly felt the girl shoving KrishnaLan's spirit back into the very corner she had been thrown into. This started a tremendous game of demon spirit versus human tug-of-war.

"Something is happening!" The girl said panickedly. "He-"

But Krish reached out and grabbed hold of the vocal chords again.

"Nevermind, I feel fine. I just need to stop whining. And, by the way 'honey', you look really ugly in this light." "No! I didn't mean to say that!" "Yes I did." "I don't know what's happening!" "I think we should break up." "No! No! I didn't…" "You just aren't cutting it anymore…"

Apparently that was enough abrasion to give the poor girl enough willpower to totally kick KrishnaLan out. And the very moment Krish was back in her non-feeling, entity form, the girl burst into noisy tears.

Mortals.

But Krish didn't want to let this perfect opportunity slip out of her hands. So what did she do?

She possessed the body of the boyfriend instead.

He was a lot easier to shove into the corner. There wasn't even any twitching.

"OH, WOULD YOU STOP CRYING?!" She screamed, realizing how strange it was to have a masculine voice strumming over her vocal chords. Krish looked down at the glass of wine sitting precariously on the blanket, took a drink of it, and then threw it over the crying girl's face.

She gasped as the wine splattered her crimped blonde hair and trailed mascara down her cheeks. There was a pause where she let the shock sink in, and then she started crying again. She stood up, covered her face in shame, and ran away somewhere into the park to cry in peace. Krish grabbed the bottle of wine, took a deep drink of it, and then left her foster bodies once and for all to deal with their new relationship problems.

"While this is fun and all," Krish said, mostly to herself since no one else could hear her, "I really have to go talk to someone. And I swear to the Gods, if he throws his hammer at me, I'm going to be royally pissed."

Little Krishna Sadguru – ruining young love one possession at a time.

* * *

SHIELD prided themselves on being secretive. Their bases were secret. Their helicarrier was secret. Their operations were secret. Krish didn't even find their main base of operations until after she died. And that's saying something. It was one of the coolest feelings ever to stand in the lobby amid the thrush of life when she knew she wasn't supposed to be there. It was a swarm of human livestock dressed in SHIELD's classic tight blue jumpsuits.

It wasn't the most stylish thing ever, but hey: secret government bases only had so much room to be stylish. So Krish forgave them for their tacky clothing choices.

While Krish was killing some time, she caught some of the oh-so-top-secret gossip swishing around with some of the coworkers. There were some really unbelievable rumors scurrying around that Krish sent through the shredder pretty easily. But there was one consistent detail that she gathered: Thor had returned from Asgard after "taking care of" his brother, and he would be leaving again after settling some business. Krish tried not to focus on Loki's exile too much for the sake of not making herself feel sick (spirits get anxious, too). She was only praying to a general deity that she could catch Thor in the brief window he was visiting earth.

It took her a while to stalk someone until they went to the inner rooms where the deep clearance badges were needed, and it took her longer still to catch someone when they were alone so she could possess them without suspicion. Eventually, however, one of the workers (a thin black-haired woman of Asian descent) was walking down one of the smaller, empty hallways.

Krish walked backwards right in front of her to put out some disclaimers that the woman couldn't even hear.

"Listen, I really don't want to do this to you." Krish said simply. The woman just filed through her papers. "But it has to be done. Please try not to fight back. I really need this time. And I'll be as nice as possible. I promise I won't walk you off a cliff or anything."

The woman (whose clearance badge named her as Luk Lynn) gave a sneeze. And Krish took that as permission.

"You only live once?" Krish snorted and prepared for the inevitable, reaching her hand toward Luk. "Yeah right."

* * *

"Luk!" The voice was semi-distant, but it was getting closer. "Luk, are you alright?!" Krish glanced up in her new foster body to look at the jumpsuit-clad agent jogging up to her. She grimaced and sat up, rubbing her head. Luk had put up more of a fight than KrishnaLan was anticipating. (Even though Krish was nice about the possession and everything. Really. Psh.) The other agent, with her blue eyes worried and her brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail, began picking up the filework that Luk had scattered during the possession.

"Oh, thanks." Krish said awkwardly, liking the fact that she had a light Asian accent. She felt so awesome with an Asian accent. "It was just a fall, nothing big."

"Just a fall?!" The girl's clearance tag read 'Agent Maria Hill.' "You were..."

"I was twitching wasn't I?"

"Yeah."

"Damn it."

"You should go to first aid." Agent Hill said, keeping the file Luk was holding in her arms. KrishnaLan tried to take it back, but Maria sifted through it. Hopefully Luk hadn't been hiding drugs in there or something.

"No, really, I'm fine." Krish didn't know how well she could pull off this accent after all. Agent Hill was looking relatively suspicious. Krish didn't have anything else to say, so she just stood there in the awkwardness, waiting for Maria to break it for her.

"I see you're going in to high security. Continue on." Maria handed her the manilla folder. Krish pressed it to her chest like it was her own child. As Agent Hill walked away, she added, "Say hi to the big man for me."

Krish turned around and watched her walk away with a confused expression. "Which one? There's like, four of them." Maria kept walking all formally, lilting back and forth with her steps like she owned the place or something. Krish 'pashaw'ed under her breath and kept walking.

Every once and a while as Krish tried to find her way down the hallway, Luk would protest a little from the back of her mind. But Krish would duel with her again, inevitably come out victorious and was given more time to use.

And then she saw him. Or, rather, his hair.

It had gotten longer since the last time she saw him. He barely turned the corner up ahead when Krish was turning hers, and just the sight of his hair sent her stomach alight with nervous butterflies.

Krish stopped and spent a moment to catch all those butterflies and put them in a cage before she progressed forward. They beat angrily against the walls of their prison, but at least (for now) they were contained.

After a moment, Krish was walking directly behind Thor and Fury by about five yards. She bit her bottom lip and thought about what she was going to say. How was she supposed to approach him? What was she supposed to do? Would she directly walk up to him? Or...

She didn't have to worry about it any longer. Thor had stopped and turned around with confused eyes. Krish held up the manilla folder to her mouth as a barrier. The whole "if I can't see him, he can't see me" thing didn't work. Krish felt paralyzed. But Thor, after keeping Krish's eye contact for a few seconds turned more fully toward her with his wide shoulders. The empty hall between them felt terrifyingly short.

"Can I assist you with something, worker?" Thor asked cordially.

There was a crushing weight that suddenly pressed against KrishnaLan's emotions. For a beautiful moment, she had forgotten that she was in someone else's body. She thought she was KrishnaLan, she thought Thor was going to recognize her. But he didn't. Of course not. Why would he? KrishnaLan didn't look anything like Luk.

And for some reason, her anonymous ability suddenly greatly depressed her.

"Um..." Was all Krish could think to say. Maybe she would have said something more clever if Fury's single eye wasn't boring into her soul.

Thor held Fury's shoulder in one hand. "You go on without me. I will join you in a moment."

"Alright, but you better hurry up. Stark came all this way to antagonize you and I don't think he'd be very happy if he missed that opportunity." Fury gave Krish one last skeptical look, and then his trenchcoat billowed away around the corner.

Krish had no idea what she was supposed to do as Thor walked toward her. Part of her wanted to point behind him, shout "MONKIES" and run away. But she was just frozen there, trapped in a body that didn't belong to her.

"Are you well?" Thor asked cautiously, examining Luk's wide-open almond eyes.

"Hi Thor." Krish said softly, mostly just for herself. It seemed like forever since anyone she knew had looked her in the eye. She didn't care if it was Loki's idiot stepbrother, it was still recognition. It felt fantastic.

"Hello…" Thor read Krish's nametag. "Luk…?" Thor asked carefully.

"I'm just going to get this out of the way before things get weird…" Krish took a deep breath. Suddenly, the butterflies in her stomach broke free and her courage was reduced to a quivering pile of stagefright. "My name isn't Luk… I'm…"

"Your nametag says Luk…"

"My nametag is wrong… I'm…"

"What is your name, then?"

"I'm about to tell you…. It's…"

"It isn't Luk?"

"No, it's…"

"But your nametag…"

"IT'S ME. IT'S KRISH. Thor, I'm Krish." She didn't know why she started to tear up, but she did. Her eyes stung and she felt extremely embarrassed.

"K-Krish? KrishnaLan? How… I mean…"

"I possess people now. I can do that."

Thor didn't seem to register exactly what was happening. Krish felt like he wasn't going to believe her. She was expecting him not to believe her, but she was hoping that he would. She expected…

Thor pulled Krish into his arms and held her tightly.

So. That wasn't expected.

"Is it really you, Krish?" He asked slowly.

"I know it doesn't look like me, but…"

"I care not what form you are in. I thought we would never meet again." Thor broke the hug and looked into Luk's eyes. "I could tell there was something about you… the eyes really are the windows to the soul."

The sweet moment was completely obliterated by none other than Tony Stark, who peeked his head into the hallway.

"Hey, this seems like a cute moment, whoever THAT is." Tony gave Krish a broad gesture and she thinned her eyes darkly. "But, Thor we kinda need you and…"

"Shut up, Anthony." Thor grumbled darkly. "Go back inside and wait patiently like a good boy." Krish looked at Thor with pride glimmering in her eyes. That was one of the meanest things she'd ever heard him say.

Tony flailed his arms and walked back inside the meeting room muttering "well then" and "someone needs to take off his sassy-pants."

"I like your haircut, is it new?" Krish asked, laughing lightly. "Can I braid it?"

"Krish, why have you come?"

"For your hair, of course."

"Really. Why?"

Krish sighed lightly through her nose and her expression fell. "Thor, I… I need your help."

"Of course! Anything! What is it?"

"I have to get something of mine back from someone very, very desperately."

"What can I do to help you, Krish?"

"I need you to take me to Loki."


	5. Forgiveness for a Devil

"I… isn't there something you could do, or…?"

"I'm afraid there isn't."

"Great. Lovely week. Just got so much better." Krish leaned back in her chair and chewed on the end of the pen she was holding. It started out that she was just twirling it with her fingers, but as she became progressively more distraught, the pen found its way to her teeth.

"Is your host…" Thor started simply, hoping to ease the obvious stress she was feeling for just a moment. "Is she alright?"

"Oh, Luk? Yeah, she's fine. She hasn't bothered me for a while." Krish's eyes went unfocused and she continued to chew on the pen. So much for stress relief. "I guess she understands the importance of all this jazz."

"Either that, or you've mentally beaten her into submission."

"Well, yes, there's that too."

"Is there any way you would be able to possess someone else… perhaps someone more willing? I could take you to Loki that way." Thor suggested eagerly. Krish sighed and set the pen down on the small table between them.

"No, when I see Loki again, I want to confront him as myself. Whether in spirit or in body. Tell me," Krish scratched at a little piece of paint flaking away from the table. But her picking at it turned it into a bigger problem, and she eventually left it alone, "why exactly is it that I can't enter the realm Loki is imprisoned in just as a spirit?"

Thor suddenly seemed less willing to discuss the topic. Maybe it was because he was sensitive over his brother's exile. Or maybe he wasn't supposed to be talking about any of this at all – especially not to a person who had been banished from Asgard. But despite his apparent discomfort, Thor still answered Krish voluntarily. No torture yet.

"The realm Loki has been sent to is dark and very close to Hel. Dark souls that died on Asgard have a tendency to find themselves trapped in that realm, unable to escape."

"And I'm a dark soul that died on Asgard." Krish said dully. "So you're saying that if I went in without a body, I wouldn't be coming back out?"

"Exactly. And let me just say," Thor said, almost humorously. "Hela would LOVE to have claim on a soul like yours."

"Well that's just wonderful." The sarcasm leadening KrishnaLan's voice was heavy enough to make her lean forward and rub her eyes. "Wonderful."

"Uh, Krish, if this isn't an uncomfortable question for you…"

"There's no such thing as uncomfortable when it comes to me." Krish sighed and looked up at Thor. "Shoot."

"What DID happen to your body?"

Krish shrugged and rubbed the back of her neck. Luk had a lot of tense muscles. Luk needed a massage sometime. "Beats me. I don't know where it was taken when I killed myself. But I have a feeling its probably occupied by someone else."

"You can't take it back? It is your body, after all. Can't you find it?"

"I don't think my body's new resident is going to be very happy to give up residency." Krish shook her head. "I don't think it's anything permanent, but I feel like it's some sort of sick plan for something. You know? I feel my body is the bait; I just hope I don't walk right into the tripwire."

"This is complicated."

"Welcome to my life."

The two of them turned into three when Doctor Banner set two thermoses down on the table for them. He looked at Thor when he said, "I got that tea you asked for." And he looked at Luk when he said, "Is there anything I can help with? You two seem kinda distressed over here."

"We're fine." Thor answered.

"Are you sure this conversation is confidential?" Krish asked, eyeing Bruce Banner with a little more than a teaspoon of skepticism.

"Yeah. It's just Thor and you, with me in the background." Doctor Banner said simply, wiping something off of his button-up blue shirt. He was a clean-looking man with a wide jawline. Krish wondered how someone like him ever got caught up in something like the Hulk. "Too many nerdy things to take in all at once, I suppose."

"And Doctor Banner doesn't care much to pry into other people's business." Thor added, after seeing that Krish's skepticism hadn't quite been resolved.

"Yeah," Bruce set down some stirring spoons for the tea. "I don't have room to judge anyone else."

"Neither do I…" Krish said softly, taking the thermos of tea and looking it over carefully. She pulled off the lid, and steam rose up to greet her face She instinctively narrowed Luk's already thin eyes. "Is this Indian tea?"

"Uh, yes, actually." Doctor Banner replied. "I spent quite some time over in India and - "

"I don't want it." Krish put the thermos back into Bruce's hands. "Nothing personal. Just too many bad memories."

For the first few seconds, Bruce seemed confused and hurt, but his non-judgmental stature kicked back in and he took the thermos away. "Could I get you something else, then?" He asked politely. "Green tea or black tea? I have herbal, too. Chamomile, rose…"

"Chamomile actually sounds nice, thank you." Krish said kindly, feeling guilty after being so blunt about the Indian tea. "She covered her eyes with her hand and dragged her fingers down her face in exasperation. She felt burdened with everything going on. And as if Thor could feel her anxiety -

"Krish, I know we'll figure something out." Thor tried his hand at comfort. And, surprisingly, Krish felt comforted. Maybe there was something about his demeanor, or the genuine expression in his eyes. He wasn't hiding anything – he never did. Thor was brash and idiotic, but he was also heroic and loving. Krish still couldn't understand why he was willing to help her. But she was grateful for it.

"When do you go back to Asgard?"

"On the morrow."

"When are you coming back to earth?"

"I have some business to settle, and then I shall be back within about a month's time."

"Then I'll find my body before then, get it back, and wait for you." Krish's voice was resolute, but it held a decent amount of fatigue in it. "How hard can it be, right?"

"Are you sure you want to go about it alone?"

"My whole existence I've been alone. It'll be better that way."

Thor didn't seem to like that statement. He looked like he was about to negate Krish warmly, tell her that she was very not-alone, no matter if she felt like she was or not. He took in a breath, and was about to say something, but he stopped himself and nodded. Perhaps Krish's judgment was better than his own. This was the first moment of real silence between everyone. Krish was focused on where she was going to find her body, Thor was combating the terrible feelings he had about the situation, and Bruce was contently fixing a cup of chamomile and lemon tea.

"I wish I had something I could give you to take with you or…" Thor said sadly.

"I wouldn't be able to take it anyway. There's a disadvantage to being a floating personage without a body: you don't really have pockets."

And then three became four when Tony Stark poked his well-styled hair into the room with a grimace on his face. "Thor, can I talk to you for a second, or are you too busy having your cute little tea party?"" Bruce gave a defensive little, 'hey!' in the background.

"If you will excuse me for a moment. I'm going to throw Anthony out the window. I'll be right back." Thor got up, shoved Tony out of the lab by his face, followed after him, and shut the door behind them.

The silence between KrishnaLan and Bruce wasn't very awkward. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was rather warm, but Krish couldn't get the feeling like it was a peace on the edge of war. She was nervous about what she would be diving into. Krish, however, had something that she wanted to talk to Bruce about. And for that reason, she broke the comfortable silence.

"How do you do it?" She asked, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. Bruce gave her a confused look and she continued. "How do you live with yourself knowing what's inside you?"

"Oh, I don't know." Bruce caught on right away, but that wasn't the answer that Krish wanted. "I guess one day I just realized that the big guy was a part of me and I had to accept it, you know?"

"But, I mean…" Krish paused. There were so many ways she could phrase the next question. The different options drifted by through her head, but she had a difficult time reaching out and choosing one. "How can you move on when you know that the creature inside you has done so many terrible things?"

"The accident that caused the Hulk to be a part of me in the first place actually was my fault. But that doesn't mean that I let him, or any of the things he's done, define who I am as a person." Bruce poured the hot water into a mug, and steam tendrils rose up from it. "I try my best to put everything I have to good use, even though there's a moderate amount of evil that will never leave me."

"How… how do you do that?" Krish asked timidly, wringing her hands together, but keeping her eyes locked on Doctor Banner. He continued to make tea for her casually.

"You recognize what you've done, you forgive yourself, and you move forward. Because if you keep beating yourself up over things that have already happened, you're never going to enjoy the great things that are yet to happen."

"How does someone go about forgiving themselves?"

"You know the quote 'once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic'?"

Krish nodded.

"Well, I don't believe that for a second. Leopards don't change their spots, no. But men aren't leopards, and men change all the time. I guess to forgive yourself, you have to look forward to what you can change, and embrace what you can't change."

"That's pretty deep." Krish chuckled. And though she made light of his words, they were sinking slowly into her heart.

"Being deep and psychological is what I do best." He said happily, setting the tea in front of Krish for the second time. Krish thanked him. "I just don't get to do it that often, because I'm surrounded by idiots like Tony Stark."

Krish chucked lightly, accepting the tea from Doctor Banner.

"And… and can I add something else?" Bruce asked politely; it was a politeness abstract to Krish, and she couldn't say that she didn't like it. Krish gave a nod, and Bruce continued on. "I know that I wouldn't have been able to go about accepting myself if I was alone. You've got to have people in your life who will love you even when you despise yourself." Bruce said, "And I don't care where that love comes from – anywhere, really – but you have to find it. Humans are just SET UP to lean on each other. And, I mean, I don't know much about who you are and where you come from, and I don't want to make you think that I understand you – but I think that kind of logic works the same for Gods, devils, and humans alike."

"For devils too, huh?" There was a hint of skepticism in her voice. "I don't know if I would be too sure about that.

"I AM sure about that." Banner replied. "The way I see it, a fallen devil is simply an angel."

Suddenly, the door to the lab slammed open viciously, and Bruce scrambled to catch a delicate sculpture before it was shaken to its doom. Nick Fury stormed in and gave Bruce and Luk/Krish the most terrifyingly single-eyed glare ever. He turned his attention particularly to Krish, and she shrunk down a little. She was never more happy to be in a proxy body than in that moment.

"I'm going to excuse the fact that you aren't working, agent," Fury was practically bubbling with rage. "Only because I am so royally pissed right now. You two haven't seen a particular golden haired god, have you?"

Krish definitely wasn't willing to talk (since she was afraid of accidentally saying something sarcastic and having her head cut clean off) so Bruce took the dangerous lead.

"Why? What happened?"

"That hammer-wielding asshat threw our residential egotist from a six-story window."

Krish snorted.

Fury turned to her.

If looks could kill…


	6. Memories of the Soul

_A/N: So this is a pretty lengthy chapter in my standards. :D That's a good thing, I think. Really expanding Krish's character. If you're reading this, I just want to thank you again for your support. Some pretty intense things happen in the next little while. I can't wait. _

_Every review saves a sloth from mistaking its own arm for a tree branch and falling to its death. :D_

* * *

-xXx-

* * *

There was no one there to see Krish off except for Thor and (for just a few minutes) Bruce. Thor insisted that KrishnaLan stay for a little while longer, maybe rest up, and THEN go. But Krish declined. She had already spent enough time in Luk's body, she'd argued, and she didn't really need sleep. Although Thor offered a few more excuses and rationalities, each of them fell vain and eventually into futility. Krish was as stubborn as Krish had always been. When she set her mind to something, even her own common sense couldn't sway her back.

But that didn't mean Thor would keep his opinion to himself. "I don't feel very well about this excursion of yours."

"Eh, neither do I." Krish shrugged. She'd decided that if she PRETENDED to be apathetic, eventually she WOULD be. It wasn't working out too well for her yet. "Better to just get it iced and over with."

"You don't seem like yourself." Thor suddenly said with concern. It was interesting how the conversation had jumped from Krish's traveling to her own personal well-being.

Krish raised a single thin eyebrow and, after looking down at Luk's body, arched it even higher. "You don't say...?"

"No, I mean, there isn't much life in your eyes anymore."

"Do you KNOW that you're making these puns or are you doing it on accident?"

"I am dead serious."

"Okay, THAT one was on purpose."

Thor cracked a smile. "Perhaps... But, really KrishnaLan. I am worried."

"Give me a few days and I'll be right as rain. Snarky, sarcastic, arrogant. Before you know it, I'll be cracking knock-knock jokes and making questionable references." Krish had a light, airy feel about her voice, but it seemed split in half. One half was a promise... the other was a hope. She hoped that she could get back to old Krish-ness in a few days; she hoped everything would patch itself up; and most of all, she hoped she could shake off this parasitic depression and be happy again. It was draining her completely, taking all of her enthusiasm and feasting on it to grow heavier on her shoulders.

It was, if such a depression continued growing as rapidly as it was, inevitably going to crush KrishnaLan.

And then something dawned on her, it came hissing and spitting acid, a question Krish had been desperately trying to avoid in order to spare herself from the venom of the answer:

Was she ever really happy at all?

She couldn't answer herself honestly.

Of course she had been happy. Of course she was. Of course.

She shoved all those problems back into their file. They didn't want to go back into the cabinet in the dark corner of her mind, but she slammed it shut before they could slither out again. They didn't matter. She could deal with them later.

"Here, I've got this..." Krish said, adjusting her feet and plastering a wide-eyed expression. "Knock knock."

"Who is there?"

"Not me." Right after those words had slipped from her mouth, Luk's body went slack and she collapsed to the floor before Thor could catch her fall. Thor crouched next to her. It was Luk who woke back up, dizzy and gripping to her head, not Krish.

"Safe travels KrishnaLan," Thor sighed, "Until we meet again."

Luk gave him one of the most 'WTF' expressions he'd ever been given. They rivaled the expressions Loki used to give him as they grew up. They even rivaled the expressions that KrishnaLan gave.

"Who are you talking to?"

* * *

-xXx-

* * *

Finding a single body among seven billion other bodies was — in the most serious way — the masterpiece of all "Where's Waldo?' sketches. Even the idea of it was unimaginable — let alone the actual attempt at completing such a puzzle.

In all of its difficulty, Krish had a few things working for her.

1) She knew exactly what her body looked like. That made it a little easier. (So, hey, at least Waldo was wearing his striped sweater. And by striped sweater, Krish means goat horns, bold henna, and a demonic tail. That narrows things down).

And 2) Krish's spirit had an instinctive draw toward her body. Almost as if she was longing to go home. Krish noticed that if she just let go of everything and let her own yearning guide her, she got much farther.

Krish didn't know anything about being a disembodied entity; she didn't even _pretend_ to know anything about being a disembodied entity. Because she didn't know anything.

Zilch.

Despite her lack of understanding, she was grateful for how it worked. It wasn't really something you could check a book out for, take a night class on, and become an expert in. However, it seemed that long gaps between places were crossed with ease without Krish even knowing. She would space out and then find herself in a totally different country— maybe even a different continent.

To say this wasn't discouraging would have been a lie. The earth wasn't very large compared to the other realms. But when someone is sent to find a tiny fish, Midgard was an ocean. It was an ocean with reefs, deep sea canyons, caverns, shallow places, wide open water, hideaways, underwater cities...

How the actual Hel was Krish supposed to dive _and_ look for something?

She didn't even know how to swim...

The first time Krish stopped and tingled back to awareness, she found herself in Egypt.

Of all places.

She would have recognized the bustle of a Cairo flea market from a mile away. Where peddlers wrapped up to avoid burning in the sun— and Egyptian citizens swarmed in the heat, gathering what they needed for the week. And sometimes, forsaking completely what they needed in order to have enough money for what they wanted.

It was a noisy, fast-paced place. Bargains being thrown through the air, accusations of thievery shrieked every other moment and few (if any) actually being regarded.

Krish watched as a fly on the wall, people passing back and forth through her. She watched as innocent people were accused of thievery and the truly guilty scrambled away with treasures cradled carefully in their hands. Most were stealing food with their thin fingertips and had a sheen of desperation shimmering on their faces. Krish had an issue deciding whose was the guilty party— the malnourished criminals with nothing in their pockets but skin and bone or the stingy salesmen with their fists clenched tight around their wealth. Or was it the bystanders who watched their own people starving and did nothing about it, holding their loaves of bread to their chests and reasoning with themselves? "Surely someone else will feed that man. But not I." And the burden of being a good samaritan was passed onto another, and passed off with, "Someone else. Not I."

The fed stayed fed and the hungry stayed hungry.

Krish couldn't help, as she watched the commotion, but feel like she'd been there before. The land looked familiar. It was an overwhelming feeling of dejavu. As she turned back to look at the main streets of the city, Krish was secured with an indefinite feeling that she'd walked those sandstone roads before. She could feel the memories that she was never allowed access to.

And she could feel them so vividly, that she could see herself walking along those streets in a different form.

A woman with her clothing draped over her head, whose arms were sun kissed and burned, touched by a race of warm auburn skin. A woman whose dark brown hair spilled from underneath her hood and framed her face of sharp Egyptian angles. A woman from a past time, who didn't belong in this modern Cairo world. A woman who walked silently on the side, allowing the faster citizens to walk past her. Whose feet were sure and whose steps were proud. A woman who carried several curved, sharp blades underneath her layers of clothing. A woman whose thin, agile hands would soon be dripping with the blood of a merchantman. A woman whose ambitions were darker than her coal-black eyes. A woman whose same eyes were full of evil bliss...

...but no happiness.

When the woman turned, she let a curled smile play around the edges of her lips as she made eye contact with KrishnaLan. And though they looked nothing like each other, it was certain that Krish was looking into a mirror.

Krish watched in disturbed awe as the woman jogged away, slowing motion with each step, her waves of cotton following behind her. And Krish watched her disintegrate slowly into sand. First her hair, then her face slowly fell away, and the rest of her swirled into tiny grains to be carried away on the wind.

Yes, Krish had walked in this place before, but she didn't want to walk it again. And with the images remaining plastered to her very frame, Krish let her spirit fall back into that abyss of relative-unconsciousness.

* * *

-xXx-

* * *

The second stop didn't happen nearly as quickly. Krish must have faded in and out of real awareness for an hour. Her spirit was pulling and pushing – indecisive in where it wanted to go. In a hopeful moment when she thought she was stable, she would go back into flux even more violently than before.

Then she stopped, and (still feeling on the edge of fading away) held herself together.

The landscape was a pretty massive contrast to Egypt.

Sand was traded in for snow and ice. The busy marketplace was replaced with a quiet, bitter silence. Krish was situated on top of a snow-capped hill, looking down at the picturesque town. The houses weren't of the best quality, and they had an eerie feel about them. Yellow light was filtering through their windows and spilling out onto the shadowy snow. With the depth of night approaching, the town members were all settled snugly into those wood-thatched houses.

All except one family.

That warm yellow light was flooding from their home's back door, only disrupted by the shadow of the mother who stood in its doorframe. And, crunching through the glassed-over snow was a small boy and a man. Both of them were holding a pile of firewood in their arms.

They chatted together in a language Krish didn't understand, the son shrieking happily as his father kicked snow into the air and the white powder twinkled down on them.

They all went into the house together, the door shut closed, and the yellow light was consumed again by shadow.

Maybe it was the whistling of the wind that Krish recognized first. Haunting melodies that glided over the snow, singing unhappily as the night brought its starlit sky and ethereal dark blue plains of ice.

In fact, Krish definitely recognized that wind. She'd been here before too, in a past life. And just like Egypt, she could see her previous form. She was sitting on the snow bank next to Krish with her arms around her knees casually, staring down at the same small town. She and Krish both turned to look toward each other in the same moment.

A woman with white hair, obviously unnatural, tied back sharply to keep out of her thin, fragile face. A woman bearing the clothing of a supposed carpenter's daughter, with a wood-shaving apron flung around her neck. A woman with bare arms and bare feet. A woman unafraid of the snow and the ice and the death that it represented. A woman who was carefully hiding an ice pick in the pocket of her shirt – an ice pick that would be imbedded into the skull of a serial killer, the rusted metal bearing pieces of his brain.

She didn't smile at Krish like the Egyptian reincarnation did. It was more of a smirk, centered around her piercing light blue eyes. Eyes that contained homicidal joy…

… but still no happiness.

Krish wanted to ask herself something. She wanted to communicate. But the girl looked back toward the village, went blank-faced, and disappeared in a wind-driven drift of snow.

Feeling anything but uplifted by these forced confrontations of her own soul, Krish glanced back at the house of that family. After feeling her share of envy at their beautifully simply lives, she let the flux of movement violently consume her once again.

* * *

-xXx-

* * *

Krish's spirit was taken to several other places. Some of them were only for a few seconds, where she was allowed a small glimpse of who she was in that world – what her disgusting mission was in that timestream. Some of them were longer experiences. In a select few, Krish watched the flashback of her previous forms attacking their target.

Like an animal. Like some sort of elegant, poised animal. But an animal nonetheless.

Blood had never looked so unappetizing before. When Krish was forced to watch herself kill – when she was given a bystander point of view – she'd never wanted bloodshed to stop so much.

Time after time, she would make eye contact with herself and see a million different emotions.

None of them were happiness.

None.

When KrishnaLan felt that she couldn't take any more of this self-inflicted torture, she found herself in the place she had been begging her spirit not to go.

France.

"No." Krish pleaded desperately with herself. "Anywhere but here. Anywhere. Gods, please, take me away. I don't want this! I don't want to be here! Take me anywhere else, make me watch anything else! But not this! PLEASE." And in the midst of her frenzied denial, she saw herself. Krish stopped and moved back, an aching pain riveting through her – without so much as a single nerve ending.

She was beautiful here. Her face was so similar to that face that Krish was so familiar with, the one framed with black goat horns. This one was devoid of the horns, instead the face was framed with waves of dirty blonde hair. Her eyes were warm and sweet, but Krish avoided looking at them. Her face was conflicted, eyebrows crooked inward like she was thinking about something, trying to think through something. Her dress was just as simple as her face, and just as beautiful. Victorian, corset, with beautiful laced details in the rosy tan fabric.

She reached out one dreamy, porcelain hand to KrishnaLan, nearly reaching her, nearly touching her skin. But Krish turned away sharply, hoping this was all she had to see. She could leave now, couldn't she? Krish finally made eye contact with her French Victorian counterpart. And she was shocked to see the emotion that was so lacking from everyone else.

Happiness. There was happiness in those eyes. It was light, it was fragile, but it was there.

Those used to be her eyes, that used to be her happiness. Where did it go in the lives between this one?

Krish looked back, in the hopes of seeing that happiness again.

It wasn't herself there anymore. In that small, modern-French street made of cobblestones was lying the body of a man. He was completely, utterly, dead. Slouched over unnaturally, head bent painfully, neck obviously severed and internally bleeding.

Krish's spirit dropped down and exclaimed as much as a spirit could have. She screamed and cried, angry that she couldn't hear her own painful wails.

He was so handsome. Perfect. Young. His hair was a gorgeous mess of brown and red, and small locks of it fell down into his gray face.

"I'm so sorry!" Krish screamed, still unable to hear herself. But she screamed anyway. "I'm so sorry! I didn't want to! I... I really didn't want to! It's all my fault! Cristophe, I'm sorry! I am so sorry!" She clawed at the cobblestones, but she couldn't feel anything. Everything was futile. He couldn't hear her. No one could. "You didn't deserve it!"

His eyes, clouded and filmed over, held absolutely no emotion. But in her delirium, Krish thought she could see his painful realization of betrayal.

Krish finally left that bitter scene, just like all the others. The flux eventually yanked her into its grip. She didn't have to look at his dark blue wounds or his perfect face that she remembered so well. Krish left the scene, but the scene didn't leave her.

* * *

-xXx-

* * *

The time it took Krish to reach her final destination was only a few days, in reality. Some of that time had been spent in sheer instability, where Krish was just trying to get a grip on reality. And the handful of past lives that she was introduced to seemed like decades of time.

KrishnaLan, her spirit stabilized on the desert of an African plain, was wearing down. She wouldn't be able to take another deep spiritual shot to the head. The next one, she felt, would finally reach her skull.

Sitting dejectedly on the vast, cracked ground of Africa, Krish slowly looked up to be face to face with another KrishnaLan again. This one was dark skinned and beautiful. She was sitting with her legs crossed and a cloak of natural colors draped over her shoulders.

Her head was hairless and her face was stunning. Her rich, dark skin was a definite contrast to the barren scene around them. But her black eyes still held dark motives.

And no more happiness.

"I don't want anymore," Krish said to her drowsily. The African incarnation tilted her head to one side as Krish talked. "Please, don't put me – don't put us – through anymore. I don't want it."

In response, Krish's past form raised one henna-scarred arm slowly, and pointed off to the side.

Krish followed her arm, looking past her finger to where she was directing.

It was KrishnaLan's body.

Her goat-horned, demon tailed body. It was lying lifeless by a twisted African tree, nearby a watering hole where a few animals were dipping their heads. A zebra shook its ears and water sprays flittered from its mane.

Krish looked back to thank herself, but the other incarnation was completely gone. Only the heat-wavering landscape was there to greet her.

Krish willed herself (will was difficult to conjure up) to move toward her body. This was the easy part. She'd made it through the nightmare, hadn't she? This was the easy part. Easy. It was over. Krish could relax. No more reincarnations, no more pain, no guilt, no Cristophe.

Right...?


	7. I Have You

_A/N: I know you're probably confused by the last chapter, and I was expecting you to be that way. :D But the plot development keeps a'coming, and I'm going to go with it. If you're still willing to support me through all this depth, three words. _  
_I love you. _  
_Please don't give up on me. This is exactly where I want the story to go. I hope you can stay patient until it unfolds. _  
_-Phan_  
_(PS. this chapter hurt.)_

* * *

Loki never slept.

He was never allowed the privilege of sleeping. He was confined to this realm for a reason: to suffer for what he'd done. Any escape from the pain he was sentenced to would be unimaginable. Sleep, apparently, was an escape. Thus, Loki wasn't allowed it.

But that didn't stop him from trying.

The closest he got to sleep was a relative step into unconsciousness. It was that near dreamlike state in between being awake and falling asleep. The time when the mind wanders, but still understands the terms of reality. Whether it accepts those terms or not is a different matter…

Loki pulled against the chain attached to his wrist. He shifted around a few other ways, attempted to find a comfortable position, and yet nothing availed him. The rawness he could deal with; the unbreakable cuffs around his limbs, neck, and torso had become so painful that eventually they started to go numb. The snake venom he could deal with; the burning with each acidic droplet dulled into a steady white pain. It was the amounts of sheer time, coupled with the lonesomeness of bearing pain alone, that made Loki ache the most.

His head eased down and he closed his eyes. The dark, cavernous scene left him for plain blackness.

After a moment of absolutely nothing, Loki began spinning fantasies to pass the time. He'd replayed in his mind hundreds of times what would have happened if he'd won the war against the Avengers. But mostly, he imagined simple things. He'd imagine conversations, the most mundane conversations imaginable, between him and members of court. He'd imagine feasts, and reading by himself in his chambers on Asgard. He imagined magic training, horse racing, and skipping stones. Imagining little, pointless scenes brought him some amount of peace in the most nerve-wracking times of pain.

This particular time when Loki's head dipped down and his eyes closed, he thought about KrishnaLan.

Now this, one must bear in mind, was completely unusual. Krish was unwelcome in Loki's study of thought. Whenever the memories of her came dancing into his mind, he burned them before they could reach his heart. He'd spent so much time trying to forget about her… and after he realized that he would never be able to erase the memory of that demon, he taught himself to hate her instead.

If he couldn't forget about her, he would despise her.

And he did.

The fact that a sweet scenario of KrishnaLan trickled into his thoughts wasn't unusual in itself. It was the fact that he let it stay without burning it. He was planning on destroying it, he definitely was, but he hesitated to see what would happen.

With the thought planted and growing, Loki's mind began spinning a fantasy. A fantasy that had never happened. A fantasy that never would.

* * *

-X-

* * *

_Their hands were clasped together. Krishna's hand was thin and delicate and with it slid into Loki's own hand, it felt like their fingers were made to intertwine. They walked together along the paths of the massive gardens. KrishnaLan made sure there wasn't a quiet moment; she talked about anything that drifted into her mind. Whether it was gardens or zombies or a deep, one-sided conversation about the universe, she talked. Loki never interrupted her. He listened intently as she rambled on, surprised at times by her insight and depth of thought. She talked about things from a perspective that Loki would have never seen from himself. _

_And every once in a while as they walked, Krish would let go of Loki's hand and stop talking to ask one question._

_"Are you listening?"_

_"Of course." Loki would always respond._

_Krish would take Loki's hand again, pick back up where she left off in her ramblings, and they would continue to walk._

_The gardens were beautiful. Whenever they passed under the archways, Krish would reach her other hand out and run her fingers along the strips of lattice. She seemed so content by the simplest things._

_Suddenly, Krish stopped and reached down, making sure to keep Loki's hand grasped in her own. She came back up holding a beautiful red flower._

_"The gardeners would have your head if they saw you picking blossoms." Loki warned with a small smile._

_"Maybe if I cared I would be more concerned." Krish reached up and tucked the base of the flower in Loki's black hair, right above his ear._

_"What are you…?" Loki stopped and his face went absolutely unamused. With dark eyes, he added, "Get it out."_

_"You look gorgeous. Red is definitely your color." Krish said sarcastically. _

_Loki pulled the flower out himself, turned to Krish, and set it into the crook of one of her horns._

_"Loki, take it out."_

_"You look gorgeous," Loki mocked. "Red is definitely your color."_

_Krish didn't say anything else, and she didn't take the flower from her hair. She just took Loki's hand, ran her fingers over the latticework of the garden, and continued to walk. She went back to her ramblings, talking about anything and everything. Loki never interrupted her._

_"Are you listening?"_

_"Of course."_

* * *

-X-

* * *

Loki opened his eyes.

It was back to the chains and the venom, the darkness and the solitude, the pain and the longing.

He discarded that daydream.

He burned it before it could reach his heart.

* * *

-xXx-

* * *

Krish thought that reuniting with her body would be wonderful. She thought there were going to be fireworks and celebrations, that she would feel totally new. But when she slipped back into her skin, it wasn't as pleasant as she thought it was going to be.

Her body hadn't been empty for very long. Whoever had it after Krish left it recently. But it was long enough for rigor mortis to start setting in. It was a miracle that there were no flies, given the fact that it was a dead body in sweltering heat.

But when Krish's spirit was rejoined to her original body, she just felt like she was at home again. It was wonderful to have nerves and muscles and real sight. There was something liberating about having a brain and a beating heart. Living was wonderful. It was wonderful even despite the fact that Krish took several minutes to stretch out the rigor mortis.

That wasn't very wonderful.

That was pretty gross, actually.

But after a few moments, Krish was actually able to get up and walk around without falling over.

She heard a few things pop as she walked, and her joints were confused. ("Whoa. What? We're alive again? What is this…?") But at least she was walking in her own body. That was an unstable step in the right direction.

Krish could now feel the heat of the African plains. It was sticky and uncomfortable, and when she fanned herself with her hand it was only hot air waved into her face.

"Okay, now here's the problem." It was swell to hear her own voice again. Even if it was scratchy and sounded like it was rolling in broken glass. "How am I supposed to get back to New York… from the middle of Africa? Hell, I don't know if I'm even in the middle. I might be on the edge. Where am I…?"

No one answered her.

"You know, Krish. You did not think this out very well." She said softly. And then, much less softly, "THOR! COME AND GET ME!"

That didn't work either.

'Course not.

But apparently, it did get the attention of someone. Krish turned and was surprised to see something she didn't even notice before. There was a smatter of huts built there, a tiny African township centered around a few firepits. Krish was staring right into the eyes of one of its residents: a bare-chested African man holding a spear.

It was then that Krish noticed the symbols drawn around where her body had fallen on the ground.

It wasn't an African township.

It was a cult.

He turned and shouted something to the other huts. Suddenly, the place was much more alive. They were shouting the same thing back to each other. Krish didn't understand at first. But when she dug up old knowledge from the depths of her soul, she could roughly translate it.

'Dead demon lives.'

Krish didn't realize the depth of her situation until a group of them began advancing toward her with weaponry gripped in their hands. Several of them were over at the newly kindled flames, heating the tips of their branders. Krish was completely unarmed. There wasn't a single blade on her.

This was where she ran.

And they ran after her.

The commotion quickly escalated as they screamed back and forth to one another. They snarled and spit as they ran the ground their devil counterpart was treading across. Krish kept sprinting – she didn't know where to, but she didn't care.

It didn't take long for her weary muscles to betray her. It was her calf that cramped up first, sending her screaming for the dry African ground. After her tumbles disturbed dust and sent it drifting into the air, it wasn't long before the cult caught up to her. One of them threw a rope around her neck and, making a series of noisy cries, yanked her onto her back. Krish's back thudded onto the ground, and several of them gripped to her ankles and violently dragged her back to where she had started – among the symbols on the ground.

Krish struggled against their hands, trying desperately to escape at the beginning of what was to come. Before it was too late. But she was engulfed by the group of them, all of them hissing and crying out things Krish didn't understand, blending into a clashing harmony of high pitched voices.

Hands were gripping onto her clothes, pulling her in multiple directions.

Krish flailed around, she screamed, she kicked, she pleaded.

One of them threw her head to the ground. There was a gruesome cracking sound that emanated from her skull as he put his foot to her head and crushed it into the caked African floor.

KrishnaLan's voice cracked when she felt the blood moving through her hair. That was when she first began to cry. It was a whimper, really, as her arms and legs moved slowly in giving a final try at escape.

She saw the dirty glint of a homemade axe. And she thought that they were planning on beheading her. But when it whistled through the air, it wasn't her neck that was struck at all. It was her left goat horn.

The feeling was about the equivalent to having one's fingernails bent back. It was magnified on the side of her skull, where the horn grew as part of her anatomy. The axe came again, this time roughly bludgeoning away the horn. It skidded across the ground and rested there for Krish to see. They cried out in their triumph as Krish cried out in her misery. Her eyes locked on that goat horn, panicked and wide. Glassy with tears and absolutely terrified. She didn't look anywhere else as they filed down the ugly stump of horn still attached to her head.

They kicked her to her other side, crushed her head into the ground, and did the same for her other horn.

Once her emblems of freedom and independence, those two goat horns were shorn from her and kicked into the fire. Krish's head rocked back and forth as they filed her bone down for the second time. The scraping sound hit her ears and made her spine tingle.

When they were fully satisfied with the short stubs they'd created, the group backed away from Krish. They formed a large circle around her, making whooping calls and jeering laughter, urging her to get up. Stumbling drowsily to her feet, Krish coughed several times to clear the dirt from her lungs. They cheered.

It seemed that their fun wasn't over yet after all.

Another one of them ran up to her in her dizzied state and ripped away her clothing, one article at a time. She was completely exposed. Every one of her henna tattoos that lined her spine, every part of twitching muscle and freshly bruising skin was exposed. She felt like an animal. Something on display. The heat of the noon sun beat against her pale skin directly.

KrishnaLan didn't see the bows aimed for her back. She didn't see the primitive arrows slice through her skin and rub against her bone. But she felt it. Each one, piercing through muscle and fracturing ribs.

It didn't take long for her to fall to her knees.

They stoned her until she stood up again.

She tried to get up, but she fell sideways when a rock collided with her ear and sent everything ringing. Wherever a stone landed, Krish could feel her heartbeat. She was never so mortal than in that moment. And as they hurled their rocks and jeers at her, Krish held her head in her hands. She couldn't stand up again.

A few more rocks hit their target, and each one of them sent Krish off balance and into a reel of pain. But she wouldn't stand up again. She didn't have the strength.

Krish tried to leave her body. She'd done it so many times with the other possessions. But her soul was latched to this flesh, and she couldn't force herself to part with it.

She leaned forward on her knees and covered her bleeding head. Arrows were jutting grotesquely from her bare flesh, some of them broken and already becoming infected in the heat.

Suddenly, a break in the torment.

The mortally injured woman gripped to her stomach and retched dryly, throwing up nothing but the occasional drizzle of stomach acid. It dripped out of her mouth with the generous amounts of blood to stain the ground a sickly green color. Her breathing came in raspy, painful bursts. A lung must have been punctured. She was dying.

Krish had used whips before. She was especially familiar with the Cat of Nine Tails, and with the oozing wounds it left in its victims. She never thought that she would be on the receiving ends of its horrific stripes. But she recognized it when it licked her back.

The nails imbedded in the whip were the worst part. They would catch and rip anything in the midst of their sick pathway. The pain that snapped through all of Krish's nerves was terrible; the sounds of her breaking body were horrendous; but the cries that came from her own mouth were what broke her. The cries from a single lung waiting to break.

She was done.

With every crack of that whip against her back, with every cheer of the cult, Krish was done.

The nails caught onto one of her previously opened wounds and ripped it open farther. Krish felt the chunk of muscle tear from her back and she knew, even in her tortured delirium, that she was bleeding an extensive amount.

She was done.

The air became a little cooler, the terrain went very much darker.

Krish thought she was dying.

But the animals that still remained by the watering hole panicked and ran away in a hurry. The trees began to bend in an unprecedented wind. And the cracks of the whip were accompanied by the cracks of something else.

Lightning.

Krish didn't know what was happening. She kept her head down and covered herself, exposed and crying. All she knew was that the whipping stopped. The pain now was the radiating after-effect of what had been done. Krish gripped one of the arrows with one hand and tried to pull it from her side. It snapped, and Krish's hand fell back to the ground gripping only a fraction of the shaft.

The noise of the thunder was enormous, and the cult was suddenly screaming underneath its roar. Krish could hardly hear anything over storm's sudden descent. The wind was whipping dirt into Krish's wounds, so she tightened up.

Suddenly, there were no more screams at all.

The thunder died down to a soft growl, the lightning was gone. There was a light, soft drizzle of rain that pattered happily onto the dry soil. It created hundreds of little wet dots and disturbed the surface of the watering hole. Krish barely willed herself to look out past her tears. It seemed the whole land was at peace now, covered in the shadow of the dark, omnipotent clouds rolling in the sky.

Thor dropped Mjolnir onto the ground heavily. As he ran toward Krish's mangled body, he was afraid he had been too late. But she was breathing shallow, shaky breaths.

He ripped the cape from his armor and draped it over KrishnaLan's bare, shaking shoulders. She tried to crawl away from him in her insanity-driven fear. To her, at that moment, everything was going to hurt her. Everything was an enemy. No one could have been trusted. Not even Thor.

Thor helped her carefully to her feet, and she finally stopped avoiding him. When he saw her face, one eye swollen closed and the other eye wide open, glistening with panic and bleeding dark purple – with her expression twisted up as she cried, shakily holding the cape around her shoulders… Thor took her into his arms.

"All is well, Krish," he said soothingly. She cried harder into his chest as he talked to her. "No one is going to hurt you anymore. I am here." She seemed so infinitely tiny in his arms, reduced to quivering in embarrassment and fear. "It's okay…you're okay, I have you. I have you. I will take care of you."

Krish held onto him like he was going to disappear, praying that he was real.

"I'm here," Thor said again, feeling his eyes sting, "I have you."


End file.
